&. @kendallryxn
The Den was a usual haunt of his, which managed to slide by as entirely normal to most, given that it was owned and operated by the pack he belonged to. However, Daniel sometimes wondered if he spent TOO MUCH time there ---it had become his favourite watering hole to drown his sorrows, gamble away his money, and find a warm body to spent an hour with, here and there. He usually went on off hours, while the sun was still up on the occasional day off. This night, however, he’d closed the restaurant early after a line cook caught a waitress’ hair on fire. It was midnight by the time he rolled around ; prime business hours for The Den. He helped himself to a drink --a double of whiskey, straight-- and then spoke to the young woman at the desk who would pair him up with someone for the hour, or the night, or however long he wanted to pay. He sipped on a beer while he sat in the curtained room by the bottom of the stairs that led to the second floor, and waited until the desk worker handed him a room key and sent him up. Despite the fact that he had a key, he knocked on the door he’d been assigned, and waited patiently for whoever was in the room to give him permission to come in. He might have been a john, but he was a polite john, if nothing else.
